


Dirty Talk

by ObsidianButterfly



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Het, Masturbation, Sexting, Sexual Content, mythea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-12
Updated: 2013-09-12
Packaged: 2017-12-26 08:29:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/963804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObsidianButterfly/pseuds/ObsidianButterfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft begins to receive a number of anonymous sexy text messages. Could it be anything to do with his PA who is constantly tapping away on her own mobile?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dirty Talk

Mycroft rubbed the bridge of his nose in abject weariness. Keeping an eye on his brother and his new found doctor friend was fast becoming a full time job. His mobile had been buzzing intermittently all day and he dreaded to think the number of procedural protocols he had broken since first thing this morning. 

A bloody high security military research facility, of all places, to be breaking into! Damn those two…children!

Sitting in his plush Whitehall office, Mycroft wondered if he had made enough damage limitation interventions for his brother and contemplated going home for the day. Perhaps he would pay a visit to the Diogenes first for a few drinks and the silence of his own thoughts. He hadn’t seen a newspaper all day and he did like to keep up with the gossip, one never knew when it would come in handy.

Flexing in the high backed leather chair, he rolled tired shoulders. His posture was nothing but impeccable, but it had still been a very long and very strenuous day. The government official liked to delude himself that he would switch his phone off and forget about work or Sherlock or John for the rest of the night, but really he knew that would never happen. Mycroft could not afford the luxury of being out of the loop should anything significant happen.

Tomorrow he would send Anthea to Scotland Yard to retrieve the good Inspector Lestrade. Mycroft had a plan to send the man to Dartmoor to help with Sherlock’s trifling investigation but more importantly keep a close eye on the troublesome duo for him. He would likely resist but Mycroft was a very persuasive man, he wasn’t going to give the Inspector much of a choice.

But that was a task for tomorrow.

He was about to stand and leave his office when his mobile phone buzzed, the deep vibration of the device resonating through the wooden table at his side.

Rolling his eye in ultimate frustration, Mycroft gingerly picked the object up, dreading what fresh antics he was being informed of now as his brother run riot in the Devon countryside.

 

**Hello Love, bad day?**

 

Mycroft had to read the text twice in case his eyes were deceiving him. It was a most unusual message to receive on his phone and more to the point, no name appeared. The number displayed was unknown to him. 

He typed back.

 

**Who is this?**

 

There was the briefest of pauses before a fresh message flashed in his inbox.

 

**Wouldn’t you like to know?**

 

Suppressing an inward groan, why people could not answer a direct question was beyond him.

 

**I believe you have the incorrect number.**

 

**You think so? I don’t, Mycroft.**

 

Well then. This person clearly knew him, and had his personal mobile number, but he was at a loss. Staring at the device in his hand, willing it to give up the name of his messenger, he decided to be more forceful. His social circle was small and he could not deduce who would talk to him in such a casual manner.

 

**I repeat. I demand to know who you are.**

 

**Ooooh! Demand is it? My apologies, SIR, but I am not telling.**

 

Mycroft could practically hear the insolence over the phone and nearly tossed it across the room in anger. If this was Sherlock and one of his stupid stunts then he was going to have a very serious talk with his brother face to face next time he was in London. In fact, Mycroft could arrange that Sherlock and John could be ‘routinely stopped and detained’ by every local police force on their way home.  
He contemplated it for a few moments, just to annoy his perpetually petulant brother. The thought of Sherlock’s aggravation and frustration pleased him immensely especially given the work load that boy put on him every time he threw himself into a case. 

Mycroft had always thought that with John there his brother would get into less trouble or at least the doctor would act as a calming or stabling influence, meaning that he himself would not need to become involved. That couldn’t have been any further from the truth.

The mobile vibrated again in his hand dragging him from his menacing thoughts towards his Sherlock.

 

**I had a dream about you last night.**

 

Well how highly inappropriate, he thought. Even if he did feature in someone’s dream why on earth would they wish to share that information, and what would make anyone who actually knew him personally believe that he would be the slightest bit interested?

 

**Really? Well that is fascinating. If you will excuse me, some of us have work to do. Please do not contact me with more frivolities.**

 

**Oh there were many frivolities, love. I thought you may wish to know since if featured so much of you, Mycroft.**

 

Slipping the phone back into his pocket he resolved to ignore such innateness and called for a car to collect him at the front door so that he may be taken to the Diogenes club. Tomorrow-on top of everything else he needed to do-he would have someone look into who was sending him silly text messages and they would swiftly find themselves reprimanded. If it were someone in work he may even have them demoted, if it were Sherlock then he was going to get very angry indeed.

 

 

Mycroft had just slipped into the back seat of the sleek black jaguar when he felt the phone vibrate in his suit trouser pocket.  
Carefully peeling off his black leather gloves as he settled into the stark interior of the governmental car, he pulled out the phone. Sighing, when he recognised the unknown display, yet another text from his mystery friend.

 

**What are you wearing?**

 

His eyebrows shot almost to his hairline at that. This was becoming absurd. Mycroft decided to call the number rather than text back this time as this person was becoming insolent, and moreover, a pest.  
The phone rang once, a clipped automated told him that the number was unavailable and it did not receive incoming calls. 

He would just need to respond by text, and he hated texting. It was too slow and cumbersome and people unfortunately ignored all spelling and grammatical rules when doing so. But he could not help himself. It was a compulsion. Even between himself and Sherlock they had to fight to have the last word. He liked to tell himself that was the reason he resumed texting.

 

**Why would you even want to know?**

 

**So that I can picture you when I cum.**

 

Mycroft froze, partly in shock, partly in horror but also partly in startled amusement. Staring at the bright white screen in disbelief, he now had an unpleasant feeling of where this was going. This had to be some sort of practical joke. There was absolutely no one that he could imagine that would send him sexually explicit texts, yet this did not trike him as something Sherlock would do. This was not his brother’s level of juvenile humour.

A new message:

 

**Is it the grey one? I do love the light grey suit on you. It brings out the lovely blue colour of your eyes, love.**

 

This had to stop. He was not going to enter in such absurdity.

 

**Stop this. If you stop now, when I find out who you are it may not go so badly on you.**

 

**And the snug tailoring of your trousers defines your arse quite nicely…Sir.**

 

Mycroft jammed the phone back into his pocket, they were not listening. He was not going to be made a fool of in this way and was half determined to head straight back to Whitehall and start getting some of the technicians to trace this number. Whoever it was, was going to get a bollocking from him tomorrow.

Just as he was contemplating his course of action the car pulled up smoothly at the Diogenes, Mycroft decided he would deal with this pest tomorrow. Sliding across the backseat, the driver opened and held the door for him as he emerged into the dark, foggy London night air. 

His foot had just touched the first marble step when the distinct buzz in his trouser pocket almost made him miss the next one. Catching himself from his stumble, Mycroft was glad the driver had already left and the doorman currently had his back to him so that no one saw what happened.

Digging his mobile from his pocket he already knew who it would be. However it was not another anonymous text message. He had received an email but the sender was not a name he recognised. Did this person have his bloody email address to? This was incongruous and a gross violation of privacy. 

He let that sink in for a moment. Mycroft supposed he had a cheek to lecture anyone on personal privacy but that was the benefit of being in charge was it not? He didn’t have to play by the same rules as everyone else.

He opened the email, he couldn’t help it. What was it they said about curiosity? 

Running through the list of possible candidate for the current mystery messenger, he was frustrated that he did not have a solid lead yet as to the origin. He was curious, certainly, no one got to play these kinds of game with him and win.

 

**So, where were we? Texting is so slow and cumbersome, don’t you think? I would love to chat, but perhaps we will save that for another time.**

**So back to my dream.**

**You come home from a difficult day at work, tired and frustrated, dressed in that beautiful grey suit-you remember the one I said you looked so hot in-I greet you in my underwear, the most enticingly indecent set of lingerie I own.**

**Do you know I have such garments on now? I know how you love black. I have been wearing them all day thinking of you in memory of the dream. The silk corset is laced up quite tightly and the bodice is doing a good job of squeezing my breasts together, displaying them for your pleasure. A frilly pair of knickers, already slightly damp in anticipation for you, matching stockings and a pair of killer heels completing the look.**

 

This was indecorous! However he quickly realised that he had stopped still and was mindlessly staring at his mobile on the marble steps. The doorman, an old portly fellow who had been there since before Mycroft joined and had yet to speak an utter syllable to him, was giving him the oddest look. Clearing his throat, the Government official marched up to the door with purpose and whisked by the man.

Settling in his specially prepared private room, Mycroft removed his outer woollen coat and gloves and relaxed into a leather chair near an open log fireplace, pouring himself a large brandy as he did so.  
Guiltily sliding his phone out again, he went back to the email.

 

**You have had a hard day, and I wish to make you feel oh so-better. I remove your suit jacket, running my palms over the firm warm skin of your chest and shoulders, sliding it off you along with your tie.  
Getting you to the bedroom, you relax face down on the bed, head cradled in your arms as I carefully climb up, straddling your hips.**

**The muscles in your bare back are taught with tension as I run my hands over them, kneading gently those aching limbs. Rolling your shoulders under my touch, my hands wander lower across your back, rubbing the small, your hips, and your sides. You sigh for me, a contented noise that I love as aching muscles begin to relax for the first time in hours.**

 

Mycroft swallowed. Hard. Why would anyone send him something like this? Surely it was a joke but the language was sensuous and in full seriousness. 

Despite the lurid subject matter that did sound particularly appealing at the moment. He caught himself rolling his shoulders and stopped. What was he playing at? He should not be reading this or even entertaining the thoughts.

Skimming the rest of the text, his mouth hung open in shock. The rather lengthy email was a, frankly alarming and intimate, description of incredibly hot sex involving him and a mystery woman. She certainly had a very…active imagination.

Unable to relax fully with all the thoughts of Sherlock and work and now this, Mycroft decided to head home for the evening. Tomorrow he would set about finding this person; they could not be allowed to get away with such insolence.

 

 

At home, alone in bed Mycroft tossed and turned. No matter how long and frustrating a day he had had he could not get to sleep. He kept thinking on the messages he had received earlier. As he stepped through the threshold to his home, he had received one final message.

 

**Goodnight, Mycroft.**

 

There was no use for it; he had been lying here for hours. Reaching across to his bedside table and grabbing his mobile phone, he pressed the keys to bring up the last email. Not bothering to turn on any lights in his darkened bedroom, the bright white screen lit up enough for him to read. 

He skimmed down the text coming to a particularly exciting part.

 

**I want to taste you more than anything. Lying backwards on the bed, spread before me, I begin rubbing you through the confines of your trousers. The fabric stretched and tented from your hard cock as I work the fly down with my teeth, nuzzling your groin into over excitement as I go. The firmness of you rubs against my skin, straining against your clothing. Your trousers and underwear are slid down slowly as I kneel between your outstretched legs. I tease you, your erection inches from my face as my warm breath blows across the pink straining flesh, watching it twitch in excitement in front of me as I lick my lips.**

 

Settling himself into a comfortable position in bed, and propped against pillows, Mycroft tentatively slid his hand into his pyjama bottoms. He was already half hard at the thought of it, the email having played over and over in his mind. With his photographic memory, he could practically recite the whole thing but he had an urge to see the printed words on screen, knowing someone had thought of this and typed it up before sending it to his mobile directly; it was a small connection with this person.

 

**It is so velvety soft, the texture, the soft skin of your cock slides gently between my hands as I caress it, running my fingertips over you. I lean forward to draw my tongue the length of your shaft, rock hard and pulsing against me. Darting out my tongue in small kitten-like licks across it, I rub my bare breasts against your thighs. Reaching the tip of you, my tongue swirls it, lapping the small droplets of leaking cum from the tip before I suck the head into my mouth.**

 

Mycroft wrapped his hand around his straining cock. His mystery texter did have a way with words. One hand flicking through the message, his other teased himself, pulling his foreskin gently up and over in long slow pulls from under the covers.

 

**Sucking as much of you into my warm welcoming mouth, your hips flex under me and I want you to writher, to buck under me and impale yourself as far down my throat as you like.**

 

Mycroft picked up the pace on his own body, jerking himself off. There was something incredibly taboo about masturbating, especially to some unknown, nameless and faceless woman who seemed to be confessing all sort of sexual desires regarding him.

 

**Lavishing attention on you with my tongue as I run my mouth slowly up your cock, I squeeze the shaft slightly, enveloping it in my fist as well as much, tugging on your erection with my hand as I suck. My free hand eagerly slips to your sack, caressing, rolling your tight balls in my palm spurring you on to the ultimate pleasure.**

 

Lost in pleasure and the sensations of his own body, Mycroft’s his hips flexed involuntary in time with the strokes of his hand. Hips bucking back and forth as his grip tightened, eagerly spurring himself on towards his release.

 

**I want all of you, each lick, each suck, each caress impelling you to cum and I desire that cum flooding my mouth, splattering across me, making me yours. Your skin is taught under my touch, erection straining, the salty tang is delicious in my mouth from the tease of your skin. I want your fingers in my hair, fist tangling against the back of my head as you guide me, force me, and push me to where you need. I can feel your balls tightens, your cock quivering as you release into me, pouring your warm sticky seed down my throat.**

 

Mycroft let out a low moan as he came, the insistent pressure building in his abdomen releasing in a tidal wave of pleasure, ripping through his groin all the way down to his toes. His mobile fell from his hand with a soft thunk onto the bed covers as his orgasm tightened every muscle in his body leaving him quivering in sensation. His eyes slipped closed as his head rested back against the pillows, muscles locked rigidly in place until the final aching squirt of cum forced itself from his body.

 

As he came down from his high he was aware he had made a mess of the bed; pyjamas and hand were covered in thick white globs of his own ejaculate.

Sighing, he was far to sleepy and satisfied to move so he shirked out his bed clothes and grabbed a few hankies form the bedside table cleaning himself as best he could. Moving to the other, non-messy side of the bed, he pulled the covers over himself and settled to a rather deep and blissful sleep.

 

 

The next morning he found another message on his mobile. He wasn’t entirely sure if he were pleased or not after last nights forced activities. This could become an unwelcome distraction.

 

**Morning, love.**

 

He thought ignoring the texts would be the most logical idea, hoping the individual would get bored. This was clearly not the case. Mycroft seemed to recall monitoring some similarly persistent messages to Sherlock’s phone from one Miss Irene Adler. God, he hoped it wasn’t her.

Mycroft had a quick shower and dressed for work. He was going to go in early and find out just who was tormenting him.

An unexpected thrill shot through him as his phone vibrated against his leg while he was in the car. Anthea sat across from him, her nose stuck in her own phone as usual. Mycroft tried to act as unsuspicious as possible as he slid his mobile out to check. A new text.

 

**You made me cum in the shower this morning you bad man. Imagining your elegant hands on my body, your fingers rather than my own rubbing my swollen clit, teasing me, arousing me like no one else can. I thought of you slinging those dexterous digits inside of me right up to the knuckles while I am soaking wet and eager for you. Thinking of your touch pushed me over the edge until I came, shaking and moaning in excitement and calling your name into the soft spray of water.**

 

Shifting in his seat, he cast a quick glance around the car. Of course Anthea wouldn’t notice, she never did or at least never gossiped about things that she did witness.  
This was all rather exciting but it had to stop, he could not in good conscious perform his day to day tasks while someone sent him explicit messages. Never mind the fact that is was actually quite arousing, this distraction had to cease.

 

 

Tracking down his anonymous messenger proved more difficult than he first thought. Practically anyone was traceable. Sworn to utter secrecy on pain of torture and death if anyone found out, Mycroft had a few of the more technical savvy members of the secret service try to track his mystery woman. No one so much as sniggered his way as was his level of utmost authority even when a fresh message arrived proclaiming her current choice of underwear for today was a purple satin and lace ensemble complete with revealing peekaboo panels and the promise of a private strip show just for him.

The messages were unfortunately untraceable, the email never from the same server or ip address the texts from an unregistered mobile phone and not even the same mobile at that. 

Someone knew what they were doing and how to cover their tracks. This in itself ruled out quite a few people on his initial list. Certainly not a practical joke on his brother’s part, Sherlock didn’t have the connections. It would have to be someone with access to the systems, most likely someone in work. Mycroft would mull it over, drawing up another list of possible candidates. His immense brain would work it out, of that he was sure since evidently technology was of no use here. 

Mycroft wondered if his brother would be disgusted or amused if he asked for his help. But he had no intention of doing that, Sherlock should be proud that Mycroft was going to be doing old fashioned detective work and all the leg work that came with it. 

Unfortunately his list-although fairly brief-did not help. Each person seemed more ridiculous and absurd than the next. He was perhaps not as obtuse as his brother regarding sexual matters but Mycroft was pretty sure he had not missed any flirtatious advances recently and the possible identity of the mystery woman truly puzzled him. Mycroft didn’t like the thought that someone other than he could lie that well, to his face. No doubt he had met this person; perhaps chatter with them, stood beside them in the lift, shared a cup of tea. The more the thought on it, the more sinister it seemed.

This would need to wait until later. He had a three o’clock meeting with the Chancellor of the Exchequer. 

Arriving at his office, the minister was already present and seated and was currently being served tea by Anthea. Usually he had her performing more important tasks for, but the government official had found the attractiveness of his PA was a useful tool in disarming and distracting opponents. Especially when he had some significant budget issues to discuss that the man was not going to like.

His PA was neither vapid nor stupid but Anthea could certainly play that card delightfully when needed. Mycroft often repressed a small smile in remembrance of the last man who though to call her ‘darling’ in some simpering sarcastic way who received a broken nose.

He would never have ordered Anthea to reduce herself to using her sex to get what he wanted but she had not complained and been more than willing to innocently flirt a little for their mutual benefit. No doubt that was the reason why she currently had a wide simpering laugh at the moment rather than punching the cretinous man before her. 

Mycroft entered the office and took his chair just as Anthea finished pouring tea and giggling-she never giggled-at some highly inappropriate joke the Chancellor was currently telling her. His leering in her direction really was disgusting he thought but no doubt Anthea had dressed up for the occasion. Her suit, Mycroft noted was one of her older ones, one she rarely wore anymore, the skirt was a little shorter, the jacket a little too tight. The white blouse she had put on was also, just a fraction tight around her bust, with a deep plunging V.

Mycroft received a small, brief smile in gloating satisfaction from her as she turned away from the Chancellor. She had the idiot practically eating out her hand and he would not doubt be too busy thinking about her to concentrate on any matter Mycroft wished to discuss. 

Anthea headed to a chair further to the corner to begin taking her notes as both men settled to being the battle of budgets.

Mycroft had no idea why he turned around. Perhaps it was the brief flash of movement that caught the corner of his eye. Facing the Chancellor, his head turned almost ninety degrees to the right to where his PA was sitting on her own high backed leather chair, legs folded, head bent. Anthea had bent over, almost double in her chair, to retrieve the notebook that she had left on the floor.

The edging of her blouse gaped slightly, sinking lower than before. The pale creamy mound of the top of her breast tissue wasn’t what caused him to stare; it was framed by a deep lilac lacy edge of bra with just a hint of satin fabric plunging lower into her top.

What was that text this morning about the colour of the mystery woman’s underwear? Purple was probably a highly common colour for female lingerie but what were the chances of his anonymous texter and Anthea both choosing the same on the same day? And she was certainly someone who knew him, had access to all the resources he did, she even knew his personal mobile and email...

No doubt Anthea felt his stare; she froze in her retrieval of her note pad, head rising slowly until her chocolate coloured eyes met his. She had realised! She had realised her mistake and he knew it. Biting her lip, the look in her eyes was one of utter panic. If he needed any confirmation who had sent him those texts then he just read it all over her face.

Mycroft’s heart stopped and he held his breath as she continued to gaze at him, he found he couldn’t even speak or draw his eyes from hers in shock.

Anthea! He never even suspected… She suddenly buried her head in the notebook and he automatically turned his attention back to the Chancellor.

Mycroft really didn’t know how he made it through that meeting. Never mind the Chancellor being distracted, every text and email played through his own mind. He was the one that was impossibly distracted.

He both simultaneously did and did not want the meeting to end. One he wanted to have a very long chat about those messages with his PA and two, on second thoughts, he wasn’t really sure he wanted to have that chat. What the hell was he going to say?

The government official knew he had accomplished nothing by the time he hastily ushered the politician out his office. So much for his skilful negotiation skills, he had only half listened to the man’s inane babbling and had yet to conclude all the business that he wished to get through this afternoon. 

The Chancellor left with the usually handshake and goodbyes but Mycroft noticed Anthea was making her own sharp exit towards the door.

‘Anthea, wait right here!’ He called out in futility to her retreating back once the politician had disappeared. She turned only briefly, still backing towards the exit.

‘Notes! I will get the notes ready right away…’

Mycroft practically had to race her to the door, only just slamming it closed before she retreated through it.

With her back to the heavy oak door, Mycroft trapped her, bracing a hand either side of her head. Even in heels she was shorter than him, shrinking back in nervous anticipation. He could feel the heat radiate off her body she was so close, her breath coming in short shallow panting gasps that whispers along his collar, it was quite…distracting. Anthea’s gaze was fixed solidly somewhere in the middle of his chest, not daring to meet his gaze and he looked down on the top of her chestnut coloured hair.

‘You sent me those texts.’ It was a statement, not a question, he already knew but he wanted to hear her say it.

‘You weren’t supposed to find out.’

Anthea's voice was soft, barely audible as she mumbled towards his chest.

‘I gathered that…’

She smelled good, now he thought on it. With her sweet flowery perfume assaulting his senses and the warmth of her body, not once did he think she would ever entertain such a thought about him. Either because he was her boss or a considerable number of years older than her or simply his slightly reserved emotional nuances.

It may have been one big joke but he had to know for sure.

‘Did you mean it?’

Anthea shot him a puzzled look, glancing up to meet his gaze; it was more intense, being so close looking into each other’s eyes.

‘The messages were they true…or just for fun.’

‘It depends.’

Her answer had a cheeky edge to it, playful teasing that reminded him of the messages he had received. Always so reserved and serious in work, this coquettish little mix was clearly an aspect of Anthea that had had never got to meet, until now.

His eyebrow quirked as she gave him a small mischievous smile that dimpled her cheeks and made her eyes sparkle.

‘Depends on what?’ 

He tried to sound stern but Mycroft was afraid it came out more as an equally flirtatious purr.

Anthea gave a small almost-laugh, ‘If you liked them or not.’

He could have left it at that. He probably should have left it at that. They could write it off as a joke or fun and leave it there but a small self-destructing streak in him wanted to push it.

Inching closer, until their bodies were almost touching, a small thrill shot through him as Anthea automatically put her hands on his hips to steady herself and keep them just from touching that last few centimetres. He could feel her caress like fire even though the many layers of fabric and it shot straight to his groin.

Mycroft dipped his head, nose brushing along a soft cheek until his lips reached her mouth, hovering just above, not daring to close the gap. He would wait for her, and she could make the move if she wanted to.  
His breath whispered across her slightly parted lips, ‘Trust me. I enjoyed them. Immensely.’

She did what he was secretly hoping all the way down to his toes, Anthea closed the small distance, soft plump lips meeting his almost chastely at first until this kiss deepened into something more forceful and insistent.

Wrapping her arms around his neck caused him to push the length of his body against hers, thrusting more forcefully against the door of his office. 

Anthea kissed him like some sort of randy teenager, full of exploring tongues and nipping teeth, which reminded him of exciting trysts with girls behind the bike shed at school; it was not what he had been expecting from her. She was playful and dominant, sliding her tongue against his, sweeping the inside of his mouth and leaving her delicate female taste.

He made small appreciative noises against her, grinding the front of himself into the softness of hers. Eager for more contact Mycroft slipped his hands under her thighs, pulling upwards against the door and bringing her to his level. Anthea instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist, her body curling impossibly close around his.

With a small click his office door was locked behind them and he walked a few steps to the polished dark wood table of his office, sitting her delicately on the edge.

Lips on hers, hands everywhere, she was so soft, so warm, and tasted like heaven. 

Parting her legs, Mycroft’s body was flush against Anthe’s as she perched on the desk top, his hands circling her waist and hers balled into his suit jacket. She was probably wrinkling his suit something terribly but he found he really didn’t care at this moment; she could happily destroy every piece of clothing he owned if she would let him keep kissing her.

Mycroft’s need was urgent, straining against the solid line of her body; he pushed her backwards, eager to rub the length of him against her. Anthea’s back hit the desk, dragging him down until he was leaning over her sprawled body. Groin digging into hers, her long legs dangled over the edge of his work space, their bodies moulded together perfectly.

He couldn’t get enough of her, mouth and hands exploring every inch. His fingers slid from her knee, running along the silky nylon fabric of her stockings, skimming her thigh and sliding his hand under her skirt as he continued a path upwards. Insistent wriggling and soft gasps against this mouth let him know she was thoroughly enjoying his ministrations.

Mycroft let his tongue sweep hers just as his fingers found the edge of her hold ups and his hand connected with cool creamy thigh flesh. She moaned against him as he kneaded , enjoying the feel of bare skin against bare skin, she felt finer than any silk underwear she may have had on.

His lips left hers; not wanting to lose the taste, Mycroft instead trailed them across her soft cheek, down her jawline. Unable to contain his excitement he was fully aware he was furiously rubbing the front of his body against hers, the friction against his straining cock only serving to push him far too close to release, but he found he couldn’t quite help himself.

Inhaling the sweet flowery smell as his nose buried in her hairline, tongue tracing the delicate curve of feminine throat and collar bone and his hands inched ever higher, sliding under to grab her backside. Anthea's hands skimmed his shoulders massaging gently, offering encouragement as he dipped lower. Her hands tangled in his hair sending a shiver of pleasure down his spine as perfectly manicured nails gently scrapped his scalp.

Mycroft had wormed his way down the front of her body, throwing open her suit jacket and popping the first few buttons on her white blouse.

The lingerie she so eloquently described and teased him with was a beautiful thing indeed, but not quite as stunning as the woman wearing it. His lips traced the mound of her breast as he nuzzled the soft pillow flesh. Latching onto a hardened nipple through the lace fabric Mycroft sucked experimentally and was rewarded with a sharp gasp of pleasure as Anthea’s back arched off the table. He could feel the tremble in her body; she certainly enjoyed that, so he did it again and again until she was panting under him practically pushing her breasts against this face in a silent plea for more.

His hand, still massaging her thigh and caressing the curve of her backside, pinched and squeezed playfully. Mycroft wondered if she would let him mark that beautiful pale skin, perhaps a small bite or a spank, just a little bruise to claim ownership. Her small breathy gasps of ‘please Mycroft’ were expediting his loss of control. He wondered what it would be like to have her humble ‘yes sir’ whispered from those kissable lips while he tied her up and fucked her mercilessly. That was a rather exciting thought for later, Mycroft thought he had just discovered a kink for power play he never knew he had.

He had just worked her breasts out of her bra, lavishing attention on them with his lips and tongue and teeth until she was making small incoherent noises under him, lost in her own pleasure. Mycroft opened his eyes, pausing in his mouths exploration of her body. Watching her panting and splayed across his desk, exposed, half naked, her long chestnut hair fanned across his paperwork; he had a sudden horrible attack of consciousness.

Pulling away slightly, resting on his elbows and hovering just above her. Her brown eyes opened at the loss of contact of his body, meeting his steady gaze.

‘We can’t do this here.’ He murmured down at her.

Anthea made a frustrated noise; grabbing his tie and yanking him back down towards her for another lip brusingly heated kiss. Mycroft only managed, very reluctantly, to drag himself away.

Dishevelled and spread out before him, she looked ever year younger than him that he could count. She was his employee, well technically she was her Majesty’s government’s employee, but nonetheless Anthea was his PA and to entertain such a relationship was indecent. What was he thinking? Practically shagging her across his desk in Whitehall? They could be found out.

It was unfair and he knew it, but if they were found out Mycroft would probably get to keep his job, his knowledge and expertise were indispensable. Anthea was unlikely to be so lucky.

He gave her a final, lingering kiss.

‘I can think of better places to do this than my office.’

‘Can’t we just have a quickie now, here?’

She smiled salaciously at him, as if her point needed proving her hand ran the length of his body, settling across his already uncomfortable crotch and rubbing him through his trousers. Mycroft had to close his eyes against the sensation and fight for control.

Focus.

He found himself rubbing the tip of his nose over the bridge of hers, enjoying the feel of her, skin on skin, the smell of her, the gently movement of her body under his. Who was he kidding? He wasn’t going to give this up, if they fired her they could kiss goodbye to him as well, but they could at least be a little discreet about it.

‘I am not going to callously take you here. Let me…let me take you out, let me buy you dinner.’

‘Are you asking me out on a date?’

‘I would feel better, yes. You can-‘ she was back to caressing the front of his body. Mycroft swallowed, hard, and took a shuddering breath before continuing. –‘you can-can come to mine. I would rather have you in a bed, warm and comfortable where I can spend the proper amount of time stimulating every …inch of you.’

Anthea gave him a small smile, ‘I will hold you to that Sir, but right at this moment-‘ She wrapped his tie around her fingers, loosening the fabric until it was off and the first few buttons of his shirt undone. She scooted closer to the edge of the desk, her centre rubbing against this cock separated by only a few flimsy layers of clothing.

-‘I want you to fuck me on this table.’

Mycroft swallowed. There was the little vixen that had tormented him with her explicit texts and dirty talk. She was certainly becoming bolder as she was becoming more comfortable. 

Well he had tried, maybe not entirely forcefully, to be a little more gentlemanly but who was he kidding, chivalry was never his strong point, especially when a pretty face was involved. And not when she seemed so eager and ready under him.

All pretext was off, yes he would take her on a delightful date later and make love to her in any and every manner they so wished but she demanded he fuck her right now and who was he to refuse?  
Clothing was hastily pushed aside as her hand wriggled into his trousers, wrapping herself around his already painfully straining cock and giving him a gentle squeeze. Mycroft’s knees nearly buckled under him; the contact of her skin on his was wonderful.

They were back to fiery, hot blooded, randy teenage kissing; he heard the tear of fabric and suspected her underwear hadn’t survived the passion filled desire to get naked.

Anthea had managed to loosen enough of his suit to work his cock free from the confines of his trousers, while he fought not to squirm as it brushed along her bare inner thigh. Sliding his hands under her backside he scooted her closer to the edge of the table, the tip of him pressing against her very entrance. 

Anthea slid one leg around his waist; the other was tucked against the back of his calf as Mycroft gave in and impaled himself into her warm welcoming body in one fluid motion. Her small moan of excitement was music to his ears but the sensation of entering her nearly ended him right there. He took a deep shuddering breath through his nose and fought not to cum on the spot.

Her lips trailed his jaw line, nuzzling against him as she tried to wrap her body around his. He tried to time his truths, long, slow rhythmic strokes but he was afraid he was failing miserably under her encouragement as his lips sought any exposed delicious skin he could find. 

Hands on her waist Mycroft pushed and pulled, guiding her movements, possibly crushing the front of her body against his but both of them didn’t seem to notice the lack of rhythm or co-ordination, both too wrapped up in the feel and pleasure and heat of the moment. Pushing her back against the table top, he leant over her body seeking out soft breasts under his mouth.

Anthea’s soft gasps and little pleads of encouragement were undoing him, he would need to do something to tip her over the edge first. Pulling away briefly, his cock slid from her with a soft wet pop. Hands on hips, Mycroft rolled her over until Anthea was face down across his desk, high heeled feet on the floor and bare backside wiggling tantalisingly in the air. Kissing up her spin, he position himself directly behind her spread legs and thrust violently back in.

It was sharper from this angle, he felt, deeper. Anthea arched her back and her whole lower body unexpectedly and almost-painfully, tightened. With a grunt Mycroft placed one hand firmly in the small of her back and pushed down, pinning her body to the desk top and keeping her in place.

Mycroft allowed himself to thrust more violently, harder and faster, pounding himself into Anthea’s body, not just as hard as he could but as if he were trying to thrust out the other side. Using hands on her hips he slid her across the table top looking for the small spot of pleasure she would enjoy. Her wriggling and louder cries told him just the right angle to push over and over.

Aware that his movements were taking on a greater urgency, rhythm lost, Mycroft’s hair drooped slightly into his eyes and sweat littered his forehead and he approached his own release.

He felt fingers brush him as he ploughed into her; Anthea had slid one of her own hands down between her legs, working it between her body and the desk. She was drawing small circles over her swollen clit, urging herself to her own orgasm before he lost control and finished. She knew exactly just how to tease and rub with her fingers, and exactly how much pressure to apply to the excited delicate nub.

Anthea’s soft moans stopped, she was whimpering under him, he could feel the muscles under his hands quivering. Her body was shaking gently and she had gone limp under him shivering in her own pleasure.  
Mycroft thanked that she had came, he wasn’t sure how long he could hold off his own orgasm, he had been teased far too much in the last few days. Covering the back of her body with his, revelling in the heat radiating from her and the feel of her pressed so tightly against him as with a few last forcefully deep thrusts Mycroft too came.

He stayed lying across her for a few moments, both panting excessively from there exertions, Anthea's cheek happily resting against the cool desk top and his happily resting in the middle of her back. He hadn’t even thought to withdraw his softening cock from inside her body, happy to still be wrapped inside her and so close.

Mycroft was torn; propriety dictated that he should probably move her position in work. There were plenty of jobs in Whitehall for someone of her skill and experience, he could make sure she was happy and working elsewhere, maybe in a different department and there would be no problem in keeping up a relationship. The other part didn’t want to let her go. Selfishly, he wanted to keep her right where she was and damn the consequences. Anthea had always been useful to him, one of the best PA’s he had ever had, but more importantly now he could keep her close and he enjoyed a few idle moments fantasising over all the interesting sexual scenarios they could get up to in and around work, there was a lot of room in the back of that government car…

He shook himself slightly and raised his body off of hers, happy in her small noise of protest at the loss of contact. He kissed the back of her neck and her cheek lightly as he pulled away. They would need to think on the best course of action and discuss what the future may hold.

Helping re-arrange each other’s clothing into some semblance of tidiness and normality, Mycroft was partly shocked when Anthea grabbed the lapels of his jacket and dragged him back down to her for another passionately intense kiss on his lips.

‘Now, Sir,’ her voice still had a teasing edge to it as they broke apart.

‘I seem to recall you saying something about a date?’

He side eyed her mischievous expression, narrowing his gaze and attempting for some of his usual sternness, which probably had dissipated quite considerably as he was trying to straighten his rumpled clothing and just-fucked-looking hair.

‘Now listen, I am still the boss and I still have work to do so for now you are going to have to get me the file on the Korean election.’

She pouted at him, why hadn’t he noticed how pretty it was before? So it begins, his judgement already affected by a pretty face. Rolling his eyes Mycroft relented, he could afford to leave work early just this once…  
‘Oh alright go and order the car to get us at the front door, we are leaving in ten minutes.’

Anthea visibly brightened as she finally fixed his tie for him that he had been fumbling with for the last five minutes.

‘And I still want that file before we go.’ He said as he turned to impulsively straighten the things on his desk.

Anthea headed for the door murmuring a few sarcastic ‘of course, Sir’s’ in his direction with a playful swat on his backside. He turned sharply but she was already halfway out his office door winking at him as she went. Why that insolent little…Mycroft chuckled, he had the funny feeling he was in way over his head.


End file.
